


For the First Time In Months

by QuinnDeRavensborough



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Art, Cole thinks about his mother, Depression, Drawing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Memory Lane, Mental Anguish, Other, Pain, Reconciliation, Regret, Reminiscing, Sculpting, breaking gender stereotypes, clay figures, emotional anguish, joy, joy despite the pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 02:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinnDeRavensborough/pseuds/QuinnDeRavensborough
Summary: Cole reminisces about his life from a few months ago, and compares it to his life now that he's in Charlottetown. He thinks about the pain and regret about leaving his family behind, and wonders if he'll ever make amends with his mother. Life can bum a person out, but it can also be inspirational, and there are many dimensions to choosing the life that makes one free.





	For the First Time In Months

**Author's Note:**

> Cole is one of my favorite characters from "Anne with an E", and, sadly, he does not get enough screentime. He doesn't get many fanfictions written solely about him, either, so I decided to write this little one-shot. :)
> 
> Trigger warnings: Depression, abuse, bullying, running away from home, and everything else sad Cole experiences in the actual TV series.

~Sometimes, it was the feel of the sunshine on his face, or maybe the sound of wind blowing through the grass just outside the schoolhouse. Other times, the feel of the cattle licking his hands was what inspired him. It didn’t matter- everything was a reason to draw. His mother told him the drawings were “pretty” or “nice to look at”, but she didn’t seem to see the world quite like he did.~

Now, as he sat alone in the room Aunt Josephine set aside just for creating art, molding clay into all sorts of strange and fantastic figures, he couldn’t help but feel a wonderful mixture of both sadness and happiness. Sadness, because his mother and siblings couldn’t share this creative world with him; happiness, because he was free at last to pursue the passions God gave him. It was wonderful how no moment only had room for one emotion. Men were expected to have far too few emotions; in that sense, each moment naturally demanded too many. 

~He never was like other boys. Billy and the other boys often called him “sissy”, though, if he’d been alive nowadays, he might’ve been called words like “pansy”, “faggot”, and “milksop” as well. Either way, he eventually got used to Billy’s abusive vocabulary, and even got used to being ostracized; if he disliked the hobbies of other males, and was discouraged to spend time with females, then he should get used to being a loner. It was best to draw pictures while undistracted, anyways. “Loner” and “lonely” often went hand-in-hand, but the boredom of loneliness was easier to handle than the boredom of playing ball games.~

The light poured through the curtains in his art room, and he stared out the window for a second. The city itself wasn’t all that beautiful; maybe he could create some sort of fantasy city, like one on another planet. What sort of cities would they have on Mars? He didn’t know, but decided to draw it, regardless of the shortcomings in his imagination. 

~He never imagined things quite like Anne did. While he often drew things from real life, or from the books being read in class, Anne often would come up with fairly original ideas and stories. It was quite wonderful to have her as a kindred spirit- he could play off of her imagination, and she often played off of his creativity. One day, instead of talking over what she was thinking of writing for a story, she drew some concept drawings. What he was most grateful for was how, regardless of their similarities or differences, Anne always regarded him as an equal. Thanks to Anne’s example, half of his classmates (all the girls except Josie) actually invited him into their friend group. Life had never been better.~ 

“But things have to change,” he said to himself. He added eyes to his statue; he made the eyes a little too big, which made the clay figure look scared. This is how he used to feel, but not anymore. If only he could be sure his family was doing all right, that they and the farm weren’t suffering from losing an extra hand on weekends. He felt somewhat guilty, but calmed himself constantly by saying he wouldn’t have been useful in the long run, not with how he was starting to slip away into his own little world. 

~When he wasn’t so bummed out, the world seemed nice and large. There were countless possibilities, countless birds and insects to discover and capture on paper. He could have been useful to scientists in that way. He could have explored the inner thoughts and emotions by observing the humans around him, representing them on paper. That way, he could have been useful to teachers, reverends, and other people who help those in need of personal counseling and guidance. Sometimes, he would draw out his own emotions and feelings; other times, he would draw what he thought he would look like if God had made him a bird, insect, weasel, or other animal besides human.~ 

Aunt Josephine walked into the room just then, saying he had a visitor. Who could this be? Anne hadn’t mentioned any visit in her letters. Maybe it was a friend of Aunt Josephine’s, who simply wanted to meet her ward. He didn’t feel like seeing anyone at the moment, now that he was busy reminiscing, but it would be fun meeting someone new. He just had to wash his hands first, since people seem to like shaking hands upon meeting someone. 

~His hands were always very important to him. His mother told him that hands no put to good work were useless. If she’d known that almost all that he did with his hands was creating works of art, she’d probably be peeved. That being said, she was too busy to notice. It’s not like he never did his chores, it’s just that he made up for lost time by drawing extra during class or late at night. When he broke his hand before the Christmas pantomime, he was completely distraught. It was like a part of who he was had been broken. He would have hated Billy forever for breaking his hand if Anne hadn’t taken him to the Summer Soiree, where he’d met the sculptor who encouraged him to work with making clay figures. It was like he’d been given some sort of second chance, discovering this muddy alternative to the ubiquitous pencil.~ 

He finished scrubbing the clay and mud off his hands, then walked down the stairs. He entered the parlor, and was surprised to see who was sitting on the sofa, nervously wringing her hands. 

~He often regretted quitting school. It was good to stand up to Mr. Phillips, but he essentially made himself useless to his family. He betrayed his mother by spending all his time in Anne’s clubhouse. But what was he to do? Probably the responsible thing, whatever that was. Should he have stayed in school, or should he have worked all day at the farm? After his mother found out, she gave him more chores than he could count. He was too exhausted by the end of the day to do any artwork, and every interaction he had with her reminded him of how angry he made her.~

~He never could please her, could he? He was never the perfect son, and was always slower and more embarrassing than his siblings. He was the last to learn social cues and social etiquette, and he was always coming across as rude and stand-offish, no matter how hard he tried to be polite. When she learned from the Avonlea gossip-chain how he’d helped fix Anne’s hair, his mother scolded him, berating him for “acting so feminine”. She one time asked him if he was interested in any girls, and when he gave a vague reply, she instantly got concerned, in that angry way some people use to express their concern.~ 

~If only she’d paid more attention to him. She would have noticed just how alone and depressed he felt, she would have noticed just how cruel the other kids could be to him. She would have noticed the verbal and physical abuse he was receiving from tyrants like Billy and Mr. Phillips, and she would have noticed that he was in a downward spiral towards self-loathing and mental and emotional anguish. Of course, she had no time. She had to take care of his younger siblings, and she was too poor and too busy to do anything but work all the time. Maybe he was the cruel one. He could not figure out whether or not that was the case.~ 

Cole simply stared at his mother, surprised to see her all the way in Charlottetown. His mother stood up, struggling at first to get out of the sofa. She was obviously shaken to see him, and her face looked about as stunned as Cole’s felt. 

She slowly, carefully, reached out her arms, and pulled her son into an embrace. He returned the affection, glad that they could be quiet for a moment so he could collect his thoughts. He felt a mixture of anger and happiness- anger, because his mother had allowed him to sink into “tragical despair” (as Anne would describe it), and happiness, because his mother had finally come to not only have closure, but express her love for him. 

They both proceeded to sit down on the sofa. 

“It’s time we talked,” she finally said. 

And for the first time in months, they did.


End file.
